Dissonance II
by thaliaarche
Summary: The night before his wedding to Elizabeth, Ciel demands something Sebastian doesn't quite want to give. Warning: Rape/Non-con. (Previous knowledge of the Dissonance series is not required.)
_Author's Note: This story was originally posted on AO3, with the following tags: "Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive," "Rape/Non-con," "Non-Explicit," "Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con," "Emotional Hurt," and "Adult!Ciel- freeform." Please use your best judgement._

* * *

He had imagined their first night together many times. Ciel, like so many masters before, would reveal the slightest crack in his persona, and Sebastian would— in an unusual act of kindness, it should be noted—refrain from torturing the confession from his young lord. Instead, he would immediately press a soft-gloved hand to that softer face and trace the hollow of his cheek, before leaning forward and bestowing a gentle kiss with only the slightest trace of mocking, the first kiss of a (admittedly short) lifetime of kisses . . .

But Ciel had never shown such weakness, and so Sebastian had slowly relinquished those imaginings. He turned his attention to his master's impending wedding to Elizabeth Midford, whom he predicted would make an unexpectedly fit wife to the Watchdog. Sebastian had prepared for the wedding, helping with the official arrangements and cultivating a gift of his own— a patch of lavender that he cared for with surprising tenderness. On the morning of the wedding, he would pluck the pale purple buds and secretly fold them into the wash, and they would impart their fragrance to the sheets that night, letting the demon bless the union and Ciel's happiness as well as a demon could.

Over the past years, Ciel had grown cold and hard and unpredictable, even to Sebastian. And so the butler was caught off guard when he heard footsteps on the night before the wedding, creeping steadily towards the servants' quarters. Near-silent footsteps, too sly and quiet for any human to perceive. Velvet-clad footsteps.

"Young master," Sebastian murmured as the door to his bedroom opened. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Ciel's cheeks were already red— the butler still smelled the liquor from the revelries of his "last night of freedom"— yet he flushed further at the question.

"Ahh," Sebastian breathed, folding back his covers, slowly rising to greet his master. "Embarrassed, are we? Have you come to ask about certain _functions_ you must perform tomorrow? I suppose most boys would know from their friends and peers, but you never did associate much . . ."

"Get back on the bed," Ciel suddenly spat. "Strip, and lie face down."

()

A human would denounce what followed as the greatest of violations, but demons, being exemplars of evil, would not notice such petty offenses except to scoff at them. So Sebastian repeated to himself.

A second part of him whispered, _what more are demons good for, anyway_?

"And stay down."

()

When it was over, Ciel got back up, and Sebastian catalogued the damage. His human form was injured, of course, for his master had been cruel with inexperience— and with sheer, drunken cruelty. Ciel stopped at the door and turned, to survey his handiwork, Sebastian supposed.

"I'm not the first master to do this, am I?"

"Hardly."

"Did you expect it?"

"No."

"Did you hope for it?"

Sebastian frowned as his human form gave a sudden twitch. "I imagined it many times."

"And I assume it went differently in your imaginings. You'd be in control, mocking me, manipulating my every move." Even with his own brow still smashed down against the pillow, Sebastian could hear the earl's lip curl. "Yet you didn't answer my question."

That butler gritted his teeth, his mind straining against its wholeness.

"Sebastian, did you _hope_ for it?"

The demon let himself crack, his muscles suddenly trembling in quivering rhythm, his pitiful excuse for a soul disintegrating into a tangle of contradictory reels . . .

"Yes."

"And do you hate that I've dashed your dreams this way?"

"I both hate it and love it, my lord." He whispered the last two words.

"Hm?"

"It is my fate," Sebastian murmured, voice low and threaded with an inhuman accent, "to forever scrape _ad caelum_."

Ciel frowned, missing the Latin phrase, but then he shook his head and waved his hand vaguely. "I won't remember any of this, tomorrow, will I?"

"You may remember parts, but the alcohol will render them all as snatches of bad dreams."

"As I expected. I order you to never mention this again, Sebastian. And . . . I order you to never encourage me to do anything like this in the future."

Ciel stumbled from the room, slamming the door behind him. He left Sebastian, who was now shuddering with his full body, deciding whether to damn his aesthetic for just a moment and slash the lavender to shreds.

* * *

 _Author's Note- The general scenario is inspired by haldolhs's "Cold Feet," where Ciel, on the night before his wedding to Elizabeth, seeks out Sebastian and sleeps with him for the first time. One particular line, alluding to the etymological relation between "caelum"— the Latin word for "sky/heaven"— and the name "Ciel," is inspired by KittyGetsLoose's "Devilish Impulses," which uses that derivation to great effect. Both of those works are beautifully written and, in my humble opinion, worth a read._


End file.
